


(Might Bruise You) Let It Burn

by tariana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 18:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13013259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tariana/pseuds/tariana
Summary: Sort of my take on Dean's djinn-induced hallucination.





	(Might Bruise You) Let It Burn

The shop closes at six, and it takes Dean a few minutes past that to deal with his last customer – pretty girl, he thinks, but too short and too round to get much attention from guys, judging from the blush his not-even-very-flirtatious grin raises on her face. She's quiet and looks sort of serious, and he contemplates asking her for her number for Sam, because honestly she's more Sam's type than his, but the last time Dean tried to set Sam up, Sam said he didn't need any help, thankyouverymuch, Dean. So Dean holds the door for her, then locks it behind her. A few more minutes to scrub his hands and pull off his uniform shirt to reveal the henley underneath, get into his coat, hat, and gloves, and shut up the store.

It's only a block or so to the Phoggy Dog – not worth warming up the car for – and Dean sets off, his usual leisurely stride hurried by the cold. As he nears the bar, he can see Sam coming up the sidewalk from the other direction, but it's too cold to wait outside, and he goes on in and orders them both a beer, then finds a booth, shrugging off his coat and sitting down.

It isn't long until the bells on the door jingle, and Sam comes inside, along with a blast of cold air that Dean can feel even as far from the door as he is. Sam's bundled in heavy parka, gloves, and hat, his backpack straps snugged over broad shoulders. He stomps the snow off his shoes onto the doormat, then looks around, spotting Dean and waving, then walking towards him.

Sometimes Dean's a litle jealous of Sam, all Joe College like he is, but Dean knows he could have had that if he'd wanted it, too. The tech school in Topeka was what Dean wanted, and now he's doing what he wants, too. He likes working on cars, likes knowing he can make things work, can fix things. He's smart, he knows he is. He's just smart in different ways than Sam. Sam couldn't fix a car if his life depended on it – he can barely change a tire. But he's gonna get his law degree and then he'll have so much money he can pay someone else to do whatever he wants.

Dean's job at the shop is good enough – he's good at what he does, and they pay him well for it. He's got a nice little apartment, a sweet car, and a pretty good chunk of a down payment on a house saved up. He doesn't think he's doing so bad for being 25.

Sam sets his backpack down with a thud and Dean wonders exactly how many books he has in there. Sam's coat, hat, and gloves land on top of it and Sam's sliding into the booth.

“Jesus,” he says, running his hands back through his hair, mussing it even further than it already is.

“I usually go by Dean, but okay,” Dean responds, the joke old and comfortable, like everything between him and Sam.

Sam snorts and takes a drink of his beer.

For awhile, they sit in silence, because there isn't a need to talk. There isn't anything that one of them could say that the other one wouldn't already know. People have always commented that they're unusually close, even for brothers, and Dean guesses they are. Ever since Sam was born, it just seemed right to have him around, and Dean never even minded Sam tagging along behind. Dean's friends just had to get used to Sam, and if they couldn't, well, they weren't Dean's friends for very long.

Eventually, Sam finishes his beer. “I've got a crapload of reading to do tonight. I'm going to have to go right back home after dinner and get started.”

“Well, let's go, then,” Dean says. “I bet Mom's about got stuff ready.”

They stand and get their coats back on, and Sam shoulders his backpack again. They head back outside, and Dean thinks it's gotten colder even since he got off work. He knows the wind has picked up, and that's making it feel colder. He's glad the walk up the hill is short, and he unlocks the Impala and settles in the driver's seat, grateful to be out of the wind, if not exactly warm.

Sam tosses his backpack into the backseat and folds his long body into the passenger seat. Dean starts the car, giving her several minutes to warm up. She protests running sometimes when it's really cold, and it's been hovering in the teens the last several days.

The drive through Lawrence is pretty short – it isn't that big a town, and whatever work-ending traffic there was is long gone. He pulls up to the curb in front of his parents' house and shuts off the car, patting her dashboard indulgently.

Sam's already bounding up the walk like he hasn't seen his parents in months, instead of just living a few miles away from them. Dean follows, head down against the wind.

Sam opens the door and shouts, “Mom! Dad!”

“Geez, Sam, they aren't deaf,” Dean says, but there's a smile on his face, and a similar one on their dad's when he rounds the corner, coming from the garage. John Winchester's dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, like usual, and he's got engine dirt on his hands and a smear of it on his face, and Dean likes cars, sure, even loves them sometimes, but he doesn't hold a candle to his dad, who lives and breathes cars. He works all day at an import and specialty shop, then comes home and tinkers on whatever half-built thing he's got in the garage at the moment. It's a '70 GTO right now, and it's a little rough, but it'll be a beauty when John's done with it.

“Dean. Sam,” John greets, and he's a little gruff, but that's just his way. He's just quieter and less effusive than a lot of people, but Dean thinks that's all right. He's more like his dad than he is like his mom, and Sam's more like Mom. Dean has his dad's eyes and mouth and stouter build, and Sam's got Mom's eyebrows and dimples and unruly hair. Their coloring is reversed, though – Dean's got fair hair and skin that burns and freckles rather than tans, like his mom does, and Sam's got Dad's darker hair and skin.

Sam's gone ahead into the kitchen, and Dean follows the smells wafting out toward him, finding his Mom pulling a casserole dish out of the oven. She turns and gives Dean a bright smile, which he returns. Mary is beautiful – Dean knows she's always been the prettiest Mom in his or Sam's classes at school, and even now, at nearly 50, she just... glows.

“How was work, Dean?” she questions.

“Fine – busy,” Dean answers, grabbing silverware and plates and walking over to the table. He hands Sam the plates, and places the silveware at each place. Sam sets the plates down, then pours everyone a glass of water and John a cup of coffee as well. Everyone sits down, and dinner's full of conversation – Dad and Dean about the car John's working on, Sam and Mom about what Sam's studying in school.

Dean washes the dishes and Sam dries, then Sam's got to get back to his studying, so they get bundled back up, and Dean heads out to start the car, then back inside for the few minutes it'll take her to warm up. It's enough time for a hug and kiss from his mom, and a hug from his dad, then they're back outside into the cold night. Dean drives Sam to his dorm, and Sam leans over the seat to grab his backpack, then gets out, leaning down to Dean's eye level.

“Thanks, Dean,” he says, and Dean replies, “No problem.”

Sam turns and waves before he walks up the steps, and Dean has a flash of Sam in front of another set of steps, in front of a building he's never seen before.

Sometimes Dean has these – visions? That's entirely too psychedelic for a mechanic from Lawrence, Kansas, but there it is. They come and go quickly, so “flashes” is what he's come to think of them as. He's never told anyone about them, because they'd all think he was nuts. He'd think they were dreams, but he's always awake when they come.

Sometimes he sees himself driving the Impala and Sam riding shotgun, and that's not unusual, but it feels different somehow. Sometimes he sees them in what look like motel rooms, and it's always different ones, like they travel a lot. Sometimes Sam's with him, and sometimes he isn't. Sometimes their dad is there, but he looks so different Dean barely recognizes him. He drives a big, black truck Dean's never seen before, and he carries a leather-bound book that looks like a journal with him always.

When he looks at the flash-Sam, something's off, too. That Sam wears his hair the same way, wears the same clothes, but he looks – not older, but more tired, as though he's had a harder life. Dean's seen himself, too, in the mirror, and the flash-Dean does look older as well as more tired. He wears his hair military-short, in contrast to Dean, whose hair touches his collar and is, along with Sam's, a constant source of frustration for their dad.

The flashes scare Dean. He starts to wonder if he's crazy if they come too often or are too vivid. Normal people aren't supposed to see things like this.

But however scary they are, in all the flashes he's had of this other world, there's one thing that bothers Dean most of all.

He's never, not once, seen his mom.


End file.
